


Leap of Faith

by Sunrise (sunrize83)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Survival, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 14:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1269772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunrize83/pseuds/Sunrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A trip to the mountains becomes a battle for survival. Takes place post-"The Curse."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"I really can't believe I let you talk me into this." His arms folded across his chest, Daniel slouched down in the passenger seat and stared out the window. "I must have been out of my mind."

The source of his irritation snorted indelicately.

"What?" When Jack only responded with a smirk, Daniel straightened up and glared. " _What_?"

"You don't want to know what."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you really don't."

"Yes, I-- Jack!" Daniel reined in his temper, knowing Jack was deliberately winding him up. "What. Did. That. Mean?"

"Painkillers."

" _Painkillers_?"

Jack nodded, stealing a quick glance at Daniel's face before returning his attention to the road. "You're a complete pushover when Fraiser's got you on the good stuff. You'll agree to anything."

"You-- That's absurd!"

Jack smiled, the irritating, smug one that pushed all Daniel's buttons. "Ask anyone. A few of the Doc's happy pills and you might as well change your middle name to Easy."

Daniel shook his head, chuckling. "Where do you come up with this stuff?"

"Ever wonder how you ended up agreeing to participate in that charity auction Carter was running?"

Daniel's laughter dried up. Talk about a low blow. He'd never realized a bunch of women could get so . . . aggressive. Standing up on that platform amidst the wolf whistles and catcalls, blushing to the roots of his hair, he'd wondered why he'd ever agreed--

"Ah hah! Told ya." Jack was practically hooting with delight.

"I felt sorry for Sam, that's all. Janet roped her into doing that auction and she was having a hard time getting enough . . . um . . ."

"Beefcake?"

Daniel scowled. "Participants."

"So, ya just threw yourself to the wolves out of the kindness of your heart, is that right?"

"Exactly right."

"And I suppose the fact that you were still popping Vicodin for that knife wound had absolutely no bearing on your decision."

"Absolutely n-- I was?"

Jack just looked at him knowingly.

"Even so, that's one instance. I hardly think--"

"How about when Fraiser railroaded you into tutoring Cassie in Spanish?"

"Wha . . . ? So I spent time helping her out. I've always had a soft spot for her and--"

"And you had a million other things on your plate, including that treaty with the Salamanders."

"Salmandrians." Daniel bit his lip. "Are you saying I was--"

"Stoned on Demerol for the back injury you picked up when that temple wall caved in on you."

"Oh."

"Want another? I got a million of 'em."

"No! Thank you." Daniel turned back to the window, stubbornly concentrating on the blur of trees and wildflowers and ignoring Jack. He rubbed at the relentless throbbing over his left eye, dropping his hand when he caught Jack looking.

"So, you're . . . uh . . . still getting headaches?"

Daniel kept his face averted. "Once in a while."

The truth was that ever since Sarah--Osiris, he corrected himself sharply--had zapped him with the ribbon device, headaches had become a daily occurrence. More than two weeks had passed since that disastrous trip to Egypt without noticeable improvement. Enough time for Janet to forcefully express her concern. To General Hammond. Which was part of the reason why he now found himself driving along a mountain road with Jack, headed for a cabin and four days of mandatory downtime.

"Seems like more than once in a while." A long pause. "You've got one now, don't you?"

"I'm fine, Jack." Daniel ground the words out through clenched teeth. "You don't need to worry about me." _Why start now?_

Jack must have sensed the unspoken. His voice was unusually contrite. "Look, Daniel, I realize I blew it, but you've got to know that I--"

"I really don't want to talk about this."

"Well, that's too bad. Because we really have to talk about this."

"No, we really don't."

"For cryin' out loud, is this what the whole weekend's going to be like?"

Giving up on the scenery, Daniel glared at Jack. "Doesn't have to be. You could turn around right now and take me home. I won't even rat you out to Janet or the General."

Jack's jaw dropped before he smoothly recovered. "What do they have to do with anything?"

"Oh, please! Give me some credit. Janet's been on my case all week, telling me I needed a vacation. And everyone on base knows General Hammond read you the riot act for disabling your cell phone." Daniel narrowed his eyes. "What is this--your penance?"

"Of course not!" 

Jack's voice dripped righteous indignation, but the stiffening of his shoulders told Daniel he'd hit at least a nugget of truth. The irritation flowed out of Daniel, leaving him just plain tired.

"I'm serious. You don't have to do this. I can spend the downtime in my own apartment and no one has to be the wiser."

Jack kept his eyes on the road, but his voice gentled. "I'm not doing this because I have to. I'm doing it because I want to. Okay?"

Was it? Not really. Jack had shoved him aside, cut him off when Daniel needed him most. Now he wanted to fix what he'd broken--most likely because the General had issued an ultimatum. Daniel mentally shook his head. Did he really want to open himself up to the possibility of being hurt a second time?

On the other hand, he'd never had a friend like Jack. When things between them had been good, well, Jack had helped him through some terrible times. Wasn't that friendship worth the risk?

"I guess you're right. We do need to talk." He spoke the words with difficulty, low and without inflection. He was afraid Jack would lapse into humor or sarcasm--something about stubborn archeologists and all-knowing colonels. But his friend just blew out a long breath and his shoulders curled.

"Yeah. We really do."

They rode in silence for a while. Daniel let himself drift, mulling over a particularly sticky translation he'd been working on for SG-9. As he slipped into a half doze, the headache receded and the pieces of an especially puzzling passage clicked into place. He jerked upright, eyes wide.

"Daniel? What's wrong?" Jack's voice was sharp with worry, and he kept glancing between Daniel and the road.

"That's it! I can't believe I didn't see it right away. If it wasn't for this damn headache . . ." Daniel unfastened his seat belt and turned around, rummaging through the back seat.

"What in the . . . What are you doing?"

"That tablet SG-9 wanted me to translate--the one that they found on P3X-877? I just realized what the second paragraph is trying to say! When it talks about cattle, that's actually a metaphor for--"

"Are you outta your mind? You almost gave me a heart attack! The way you jumped up, I thought . . . I thought . . ." When Daniel peered over his shoulder, Jack scowled. "Never mind what I thought! Put your seat belt on, we're going through some dangerous turns here."

"I just need my backpack, Jack. I have to get this down in my journal while it's still clear in my head or--" Daniel watched the color drain from Jack's face and his whole body tense. "Jack?"

"Holy-- Daniel . . . Daniel, look out! Sit down, he's--"

Brakes squealed. The truck swerved hard to the left, throwing Daniel into the back seat in a jumble of arms and legs. There was a grating screech of metal on metal, and he heard Jack swear as everything around him spun sickeningly. He felt an odd sensation of weightlessness, followed abruptly by the bone-jarring crunch of violent impact. His whole body slammed into something with incredible force. Pinpricks of light burst across his vision and he heard himself scream. Then everything went dark.

**************************

Somebody was tap dancing in his skull. With spiked heels.

Jack pried open sticky eyes. A bolt of agony shot through his head, wrenching a moan from his throat. He stilled, regrouping, as he assessed the various aches and pains. The headache was massive, muddling his thoughts. His left cheek was on fire, the muscles in his back were contracting in painful little spasms, and his leg . . . Oh, God, his right leg felt as if it had been torn off at the knee. 

Forcing his eyelids open and squinting stubbornly against the glare, he got an up close and personal view of . . . the driver's side window. Wincing, he cautiously straightened, swearing under his breath when the movement both intensified the beat in his head and stoked the flames burning his cheek. Which, he realized foggily, had been pressed against the splintered glass.

Shoving aside the now-deflated airbag, he let his gaze wander downward, taking in the seat belt snugged tightly across his chest and the crumpled dashboard pinning his lower leg. Gritting his teeth, he grasped his thigh with both hands and--with much grunting, cursing, and squirming--worked it free. His jeans stretched taut against the badly swollen knee, but no blood stained the fabric. Panting and drenched with sweat, he collapsed against the seat as his vision grayed around the edges. 

When the pain settled from a shriek to a dull roar, Jack switched his attention from his own injuries to his surroundings. A chill tingled down his spine as he realized that the SUV, though upright, was tilted sideways at roughly a forty-five degree angle. The driver's side was wedged up against a large pine tree that had caused the door to buckle inward and fractured the glass into a spider web of cracks. No wonder the side of his face hurt--with the airbag deflated, gravity had pulled his head against the broken window.

Jack carefully turned toward the passenger window, where he could glimpse a bit of the steep incline and a whole lot of blue sky. He closed his eyes, steeling himself. He had to get out of the car, and with his door effectively obstructed by the tree, that meant crawling over the gearshift and out the passenger door.

As he sucked in a sharp breath, Jack's eyes flew open. _Passenger . . . Daniel!_ Disjointed flashes of memory bombarded him--Daniel, sullen and angry. Daniel, in pain. Daniel, wide-eyed with excitement, unbuckling his safety belt and leaning into the back seat. Unbuckling . . . 

Jack slithered out from under the airbag and steering wheel, wriggling and twisting until he could peer into the back seat. Daniel lay on the floor, crumpled against the driver's side door. One arm was twisted beneath his body, and he was missing both shoes. Blood from a nasty gash above his left eye coated the side of his face from hairline to chin and stained the collar of his once immaculate white T-shirt.

"Daniel?" The name came out in a raspy croak, barely above a whisper. Jack swallowed hard, but all the spit seemed to have left his mouth. "Danny?"

Daniel didn't move, not even a twitch. Jack searched for the rise and fall of his friend's chest, but Daniel was folded into a ball and Jack's vision kept blurring. Oh, God--what if he was dead? What if he'd slipped away, all alone in the crappy back seat of the truck while Jack was still out cold?

His need to reach Daniel, to touch and reassure himself that his friend was alive, blotted out reason. Jack was up on his good knee and doing his damnedest to crawl into the back seat before the pain blindsided him, stealing his breath and narrowing his vision to a mere pinprick of color and light. He fell back into his seat, his head smacking against the broken window with a soft thunk.

Okay, so that wasn't going to work.

When the pain in his knee and head dropped to a bearable level, Jack shoved aside the passenger-side airbag and inched himself across the front seat to the door. It was literally an uphill battle--with the car's angle, gravity naturally pulled him down toward the driver's side. After some trial and error, he found that turning his back toward the passenger door and pushing with his good leg allowed him to scoot toward his goal, while keeping his injured leg relatively straight and immobile.

Getting out of the car held its own challenge, as once again he worked against gravity. The door wouldn't stay propped open, nearly smashing his fingers when it repeatedly swung shut, and he couldn't lower the electric window--not even when he wasted precious energy sliding back down to the steering wheel and turning the key in the ignition. 

By now Jack was teetering on the edge of losing it completely: drenched in sweat, trembling with pain and fatigue, and desperately worried about Daniel. 

Just as he was mustering the strength to try the door one more time, inspiration struck. Groping along the side of the passenger seat, he located the small lever and pulled. With a little nudge of his shoulder, the seat obligingly reclined, allowing him to slide over it and into the back seat.

He hesitated, one hand poised over Daniel, afraid of what he might find. Then he saw the shallow rise and fall of his friend's chest, and all the air whooshed out of his lungs. He gingerly pressed three fingers to Daniel's throat, searching for a pulse. 

There! Weak and rapid, but Jack's bones turned to water at the flutter under his fingertips. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed 911, not really surprised when the display warned that no signal was available. Jack sat back, chewing on his lip. What to do? Moving Daniel would be taking a huge risk--if his friend had a spinal cord injury, Jack could do irreparable damage.

On the other hand, he couldn't fully assess his friend's condition or offer treatment while he was crumpled in the back seat of a vehicle that could conceivably slide further down the mountain at any moment. Decision made, Jack braced his good leg against the seat, grabbed Daniel under both arms, and pulled. He managed to shift Daniel all of six inches before his leg gave out and his slick palms lost their grip. Daniel slumped on top of him, driving the breath from his lungs and awakening his slumbering knee. 

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" His own voice sounded distant, drowned out by the whine in his ears. Jack lay under 180 pounds of boneless archeologist, trying to remember how to breathe. Warm wetness soaked through his T-shirt, and the coppery smell of blood made his stomach churn. 

How on earth was he going to get Daniel out of the damn car? Where the hell was Teal'c when you needed him? Jack could barely lift Daniel's solid bulk on a good day. Half dizzy, with a bum leg, on an incline . . . 

"Daniel." He buried his fingers in his friend's thick hair and tugged, none too gently. "Damn it, Daniel! You've got to wake up!"

A low moan rumbled against his chest. Jack squirmed upright and slapped Daniel's cheek. "That's it, Dannyboy. I know you're in there."

Daniel's eye fluttered open, then slammed shut, his forehead wrinkling as he moaned again. His hands clenched, scrabbling at Jack's shirt.

"Daniel?"

"J-Jack?" It was more breath than sound, but it was beautiful to Jack's ears.

"Yeah. Right here."

"Oh, God. Head."

"You took a pretty good knock to the noggin."

"Happened?"

Jack frowned, worried not only by the question, but also Daniel's willingness to remain sprawled across his chest. "You don't remember?"

A long pause. "Sssara? H-hand device?"

Well, crap. Obviously the knock on the head had also scrambled Daniel's brains. "No, an accident. Car full of kids ran us off the road. You got thrown around pretty bad, but you're going to be okay." _Please don't let that be a lie._

Daniel didn't reply, growing heavier--if that were possible. Jack looked down just in time to see his friend's eye slide shut.

"Daniel? Daniel!" He punctuated his rebuke with a slap to Daniel's cheek.

Daniel's eye popped open and he instinctively recoiled, jerking his head up from the pillow of Jack's chest with a groan. "Wh-why'd ya do that?"

Jack's stomach clenched in remorse at the bewildered hurt in his friend's voice, but he steeled himself, propping his hands against Daniel's shoulders to keep him upright. "You can't fade out on me. We've got to get you out of this car, and I can't do it alone."

"Where are we?"

Damn. So much for explanations--they were a waste of time and energy as long as Daniel wasn't firing on all cylinders. Jack shoved, hefting his friend upright, and slithered out from under him. Daniel grunted, clutching his head and swaying precariously.

"Gonna . . . gonna be sick." He'd barely finished speaking when he turned his head to the side and noisily did exactly as he'd predicted.

Jack caught hold of Daniel as he started a nosedive toward his own mess. Despite the increasing warmth of the car, Daniel was shivering, his skin cool and clammy.

"Easy, easy. Come on, Daniel, you can do this." 

"Head hurts."

"I know it does, big guy."

"What happened?"

 _Oh, for cryin' . . ._ "We're gonna make a break for it now. I need you to follow me. Can you do that?"

Daniel stiffened and his wandering gaze locked onto Jack's face. "Goa'uld?"

"Something like that. Just . . . follow me, okay?" _Whatever works_ , he thought, watching Daniel drunkenly crawl across the seat. At least the concept of impending danger had spurred Daniel into motion.

The simple trek over the seat and out of the car took an eternity. Daniel puked twice more, and he was so unsteady he kept losing his balance. Once down, it took a lot of poking, prodding, and just plain cruelty on Jack's part to get him moving again. By the time they tumbled out of the truck and onto the rocky ground, Daniel had passed out, and Jack was hanging onto consciousness by a thread.

He manhandled Daniel into the shade from a nearby tree and collapsed beside him. Overhead the sky was a flawless blue broken only by a few wispy clouds. _Nice day for a drive_ , he thought muzzily, and promptly passed out.


	2. Chapter 2

Fingers. Tapping his cheek.

Daniel tried moving his head, but the maddening touch not only followed, it grew rougher. With great effort, he lifted his hand and batted at the annoyance. Fire lanced across his chest, and he groaned. Instinctively curling into a ball, he panted, his own ragged breathing and a persistent buzzing filling his ears. 

He hurt everywhere, but the worst of it centered in his head and chest. Pain pulsed rhythmically through his skull with each beat of his wildly thumping heart, and every breath he drew provoked a corresponding stab of agony, like a knife to his ribs. Fear combined with confusion added to his distress. He hurt, but he didn't know why. His muddled brain urged him to move, to escape . . . but he didn't know where.

As he lay there, gasping and shivering, he gradually became aware of two things: The persistent buzz was the sound of his own whimpering; and someone was talking to him, his voice low and gentle. Daniel concentrated, and the words began making sense.

". . . concussion . . . pretty bad . . . Fraiser . . . check you out . . ." 

"Jack?" His mouth and throat felt desert dry; he couldn't find enough moisture to wet his lips. He abruptly realized he was laying on a hard, lumpy surface that felt gritty beneath his cheek.

"Right here." 

Hands, touching him, rolling him onto his back. His head was lifted, cradled by a large palm, and then lowered onto something soft. He whimpered again, this time with gratitude, as the throbbing ache receded a little.

The relief was short-lived. Callused fingers pried open one eyelid. The sudden explosion of light was like an ice pick driven into his brain--the pain was tremendous. Daniel didn't even think, just reacted, arms flailing as he tried unsuccessfully to roll away from those cruel, relentless fingers.

"Daniel. Daniel, stop!"

He flopped onto his back, his heart pounding and his chest cramping with each labored breath. Hands again, cupping his face, and now Jack's voice was strained with irritation and . . . worry?

"Damn it, Daniel! Hold still. I know it hurts, but I've got to get a look at your pupils. Help me out here."

 _Pupils?_ Daniel thought. _I'm dying and Jack's talking about school? What?_

A shadow fell, reducing the light that filtered through his eyelids. "Can you open your eyes for me? I'll try to block the light."

Clenching his teeth, Daniel eased his eyes open a bit. The glare still aggravated his already pounding head, but with Jack's body as a shield, it was bearable.

"Good, good." Jack carefully pried open one eye, then the other. "Hang on. Just a minute more. Follow my finger."

Daniel struggled to track a shapeless blob as tears leaked and ran down the sides of his face. Despite the earlier impatience in his voice, Jack's brown eyes were warm with sympathy. He released Daniel and sat back, his lips pressed tightly together and a tense, pinched expression on his face.

Daniel blinked furiously, fighting against a rush of nausea. He found he could now leave his eyelids at half-mast without too much discomfort.

Jack ran his hands down each of Daniel's arms and legs. "I know your head hurts like hell. Anything else I should know about?"

"Chest." Daniel tried once again to lick his lips, his voice little more than a froggy croak. "Ribs . . . broken, maybe."

Jack felt along Daniel's torso. When his hands reached a spot just above Daniel's waist, something shifted, and Daniel sucked in a sharp gulp of air.

Jack winced. "Yeah. Broken, all right."

"Jack?"

"Yeah?" Jack worked Daniel's T-shirt free of his jeans and hiked it up, gently retracing the hard ridge of his ribs. His face wore the carefully neutral expression that signaled they were in deep shit.

Daniel tracked a hawk flying overhead, closing his eyes when the sky rippled and wavered. His lips felt numb, his tongue too large for his mouth. "What happened?"

Jack faltered, hands stilling for a moment before resuming their investigation. "A car full of kids--most likely very drunk kids--ran us off the road. We slid down the side of the mountain--only partway, thanks to this tree."

"You--" Daniel hissed, his eyes popping open when Jack's relentless fingers found another sore spot.

"Sorry, sorry." Jack muttered the words through gritted teeth, swiping the crook of his arm across his sweaty forehead. 

Daniel puffed through his mouth for a moment. Thinking was like wading through mud--his normally sharp mind thick and sluggish. "You . . . all right?"

"I racked up my knee, but otherwise . . ." Jack tugged the shirt down. "I had my seat belt on, unlike a certain archeologist who shall remain nameless."

Daniel frowned. Jack's words chugged past him with the speed of a freight train while he floundered to keep up. "Huh?"

"You, Daniel. You were digging in the back seat for your journal, remember? That's why you took such a beating. Here."

Jack slid a hand under his neck and something brushed his lips. After a moment water, deliciously cool and wet, trickled into his mouth and slid down his parched throat. Daniel sucked greedily, whining in protest when the bottle disappeared.

"Slow down or you'll puke it back up. And I've gotta say, I've seen enough of your puke to last me a lifetime."

A few more swallows and then a cool, soft cloth stroked across his cheek. When it reached his hairline, Daniel flinched and pain sparked across his vision. "Ouch."

"Sorry. I'm trying to be gentle but there's a helluva lot of blood here. I need it cleared away before I can see how badly you're cut."

Daniel clamped his teeth together and held still, sighing when Jack finally finished. "Bad?"

"Enough," Jack said cryptically. He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "From what I can see, you've got at least four busted ribs, a bazillion cuts and bruises, and a pretty nasty concussion. That head wound is going to need stitches, but for now I can clean and bandage it with stuff from the first aid kit. Can't do much for the ribs except wrap 'em--I think I can make do by tearing up a few shirts."

 _Bazillion?_ Daniel screwed up his face in concentration, trying to untangle the long string of words. _What?_

Jack huffed and shook his head. "Never mind. You just lay there and I'll do my Doc Fraiser imitation."

Daniel frowned. "Don' be ridiculous. You don' look anything like Janet."

Jack disappeared. Daniel blinked, staring at the empty space where he'd been. He heard an odd, dragging sound, then a lot of thumps and thuds mingled with Jack cursing under his breath. Sunlight dappled through the branches above him, making his head throb more fiercely. He shut his eyes against the glare, gritting his teeth against the nauseating sensation that the earth was spinning beneath him.

"Daniel?"

He opened his eyes, startling at the close proximity of Jack's face. Confused by the way his friend seemed to appear and disappear without warning, he nodded. "Here."

"Head first, then ribs. Try not to move because this peroxide is gonna hurt like a son of a bitch."

Before he could attempt an answer, liquid fire seared his forehead. Daniel dug his fingers into the dirt beneath his hands, his body taut with the strain of holding still. Jack, damn him, was nothing if not thorough, and the procedure went on forever. Finally Jack pressed a clean gauze pad to his head and secured it with medical tape.

He re-wet the cloth and mopped tears and sweat from Daniel's face. "How are ya doing?"

"Jus' . . . peachy."

Jack grinned. "That's my boy. Now comes the tough part. We've got to get you upright so I can stabilize those ribs."

 _Tough part,_ Daniel thought woozily. _What do you call setting a blow torch to my head?_

Sound of ripping cloth. Daniel could tell Jack was doing something with his hands but he didn't have the energy or the will to see what it was. After a few minutes, Jack looked down at him.

"Okay, here's the game plan. You let me do all the work. I'm going to sit you up, and you can lean against me while I wrap the bandage. Sound good?"

Daniel squinted at him, wishing vaguely for his glasses. "Game? Don't feel like playin'."

Jack stared at him for a moment, then heaved a sigh. "Yeah. All right, here we go."

He leaned over Daniel, then froze, sucking in a harsh breath. Daniel watched the color drain from his face. "Jack?"

"'S okay, 's okay." He puffed through his mouth for a moment, jaw clenched. Gradually, his tense body relaxed. "Note to self: Don't do that again." He didn't smile so much as show Daniel his teeth. "Let's try that again."

Daniel grunted as Jack slipped one hand behind his neck, the other under his shoulders. Panic washed over him. "Jack, wait, I really don't think--"

"Hang on, Daniel. Here we go."

Agony stabbed through his chest, pulling the air from his lungs. Daniel tried to scream but couldn't make a sound. He saw spots dance across his vision, as everything became a mixed up jumble of color and sound. His head thudded against Jack's shoulder, then, mercifully, he faded away.

**************************

They were in a world of trouble.

Jack tipped his head back, the rough bark from the tree trunk digging into his spine. The sun, a ball of red fire, was rapidly disappearing behind the trees. Lengthening shadows and the marked drop in temperature told him night was just around the corner.

And it was gonna get damn cold for a couple of guys stuck on the mountainside with only lightweight jackets and a couple of blankets between them.

When Daniel had passed out, Jack had momentarily panicked, terrified he'd done something to exacerbate his friend's injuries. Once he'd stopped being Jack and reverted to Colonel O'Neill, he'd realized that Daniel's pulse was still relatively strong, his respiration steady--if a bit labored.

He'd taken advantage of Daniel's unconsciousness, quickly and efficiently wrapping his ribs while his friend was oblivious to the pain. When finished he'd tucked one of the blankets snugly around Daniel's body and gone to scavenge what he could from the remainder of their luggage.

The results were dismal.

A half dozen bottles of water, four granola bars, and a thermos of cold coffee. Clothing--mostly useless except for their lightweight jackets and a couple of flannel shirts. A fishing pole and tackle box--that was gonna be _real_ helpful. And the contents of the first aid kit, which included hydrogen peroxide and antibiotic cream, some bandages, and a much-too-small bottle of ibuprofen. Daniel's prescription-strength painkillers were MIA--if he'd even remembered to bring them in the first place. It would be just like his friend to pack reference books and journals and forget his headache meds.

Desperate, Jack had risked another attempt at starting the SUV's engine--and nearly got himself killed in the process. His weight moving around inside the truck somehow had caused it to shift, throwing off its precarious balance against the tree. A shotgun pop of cracking branches alerted him an instant before the back end lost purchase on the loose shale and the truck slid ass-first down the mountain, jerking to a teeth-jarring stop when the front wheels caught on a rocky outcrop. Jack had flung himself out of the car, relief temporarily obliterating the pain in his knee.

Talk about your close calls.

And it had all been for nothing. Turning the key in the ignition had produced only an impotent click and then silence. Battery was dead, maybe, or disconnected. Any way you looked at it, the vehicle wasn't going to be any help in getting them rescued. The horn didn't even work.

Neither did his cell phone.

His knee was swollen to the size of a grapefruit, hot beneath the fabric of his jeans. He'd barely been able to crawl back from the truck; he'd never in a million years make it up the steep mountainside to the road. Daniel's busted ribs were bad enough to impede his breathing. That, coupled with the chill night air, could all too easily land him a case of pneumonia. But what really had him worried was the head injury. Daniel was dizzy, nauseous, and confused. And to Jack's admittedly untrained eye, his pupils looked a bit sluggish. Of course, it could be just a really bad concussion. Maybe.

They were in a world of trouble.

Jack wiped beads of cold sweat from his upper lip, squirming a bit as he searched for a position that would ease the pressure on his knee. Again he replayed the last few minutes before the accident, scrutinizing his actions and searching for something, anything, he might have done differently. Had he driven too fast? Were his reflexes too slow? Had he allowed himself to be distracted by Daniel hanging over the seat?

No matter what angle he chose, the final picture looked the same. The sharp bend in the road, the speed of the oncoming car, and the condition of its driver--hell, of the whole bunch--had left Jack no option but to meet the vehicle head on or get out of the way. Considering where he and Daniel wound up, it had been a lose-lose situation.

And somehow he didn't think any of those boys were going to be much help. If they'd even noticed what they'd done--and from his quick glimpse of the partying going on in that car, those idiots were probably oblivious--he doubted they'd be in any hurry to own up to it.

Daniel jerked, whining softly, arms and legs twitching. Jack leaned forward, intending to calm his friend before he could aggravate his injures. Unfortunately, in his haste he twisted too far to the left, wrenching his stiff and unforgiving knee. The grumbling pain blossomed into a squeal, and he slumped back, clutching his leg and gasping while tears rolled down his cheeks.

After a few minutes he fumbled open the bottle of ibuprofen, extracted three of the small brown pills, and washed them down with a gulp of water. All afternoon he'd gritted his teeth and endured the agony in his knee, hoping to save the painkillers for Daniel, but after his ill-fated adventure in the truck, he needed some relief simply to keep functioning. He was no good to Daniel curled into a ball, sobbing like a baby.

Not that he seemed to be of much use anyway. 

Frustration gnawed at him as relentlessly as the pain in his leg. He was a man of action. He'd built a distinguished career by being the guy the brass called to make the impossible possible. The go-to-it guy. He'd damn near convinced himself that there was no problem too big, nothing he couldn't handle if given the chance.

Until a single gunshot changed his life forever.

Charlie's death couldn't be fixed, not even by the go-to-it guy. He'd held his son in his arms as life drained from his small body with every beat of his heart. Helpless.

Just like now. Jack looked at Daniel--dark bruises stark against pale skin, his brow furrowed with pain even in sleep--and anger welled up inside him like a dark tide. He was _not_ going to lose Daniel, damn it. Somehow, some way, he was going to fix this one.

Daniel frowned, mumbling something unintelligible and moving his head back and forth. Jack placed a hand on him, but Daniel only became more agitated. When his friend crossed the line from restless to distressed, he decided it was time to intervene.

"Daniel. Daniel, it's all right. Wake up."

". . . impossible . . . you're dead . . . can't . . . can't . . . no . . . I . . ."

"Daniel."

"Jack!" Daniel gasped the name, halfway to sitting before his battered body forcibly reminded him it was a bad idea. He latched onto Jack's outstretched arm with a strangled cry.

"Bad idea--but then, you've already figured that one out, haven't you?" Jack eased Daniel to a semi-reclining position against his shoulder, and placed a bottle of water and three ibuprofen tablets into his hand. "Here. It's not exactly Doc's happy juice, but it'll at least take the edge off."

Daniel did as he was told, mechanically and without protest. He downed the pills, but after a few swallows of water he froze and his breathing sped up. Even in the rapidly fading light Jack could see sweat break out on his forehead.

"Daniel?"

"Gonna . . . gonna be sick."

"No, you're not. Listen to me, okay? I want you to take nice deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth."

"Jack, can't--"

"Concentrate! In. Out. In. Out. Nice and slow. That's it. Mind over matter."

"Easy . . . easy for you . . . to say." Daniel ground the reply out through gritted teeth, but after several minutes his tense body relaxed a bit and he sighed. "Better."

He seemed content to remain propped against Jack's chest, and Jack had to admit, the shared body heat helped combat the chill. They sat in silence, watching as the sun slipped behind the mountains and the first stars shimmered into view.

"What . . . what happened?"

Jack closed his eyes. Breathed. "There was an accident, remember? We were run off the road by a bunch of kids. You've got a knock on the head and some busted ribs, and I racked up my knee."

Daniel's head thumped onto his shoulder. "I can't . . . I don't remember."

"Yeah, well, it's okay. Your brains are a little scrambled right now."

"Cell phone?"

"No signal." It was maddening to regurgitate the same information, but Jack held on to his patience. "We slid a couple thousand feet down the mountain. We're stuck."

"Getting dark."

"You noticed."

"Why are you still here?"

Daniel's soft question caught him completely off guard. Jack jerked his gaze from the sky and glared at his friend. In the dusky twilight, it was hard to read the subtle nuances in Daniel's expression.

"What are you talking about?"

"You could climb up to the road. Maybe flag down a car . . . hike to . . . 's there a town nearby?"

"My knee is cashed. I'd never make it up the mountain, let alone five miles to the nearest town." Frustrated by his own impotence, his words came out sharp and angry.

"You made it out of Iraq. Telling me . . . you can't make it up one little mountain?" Daniel grabbed Jack's arm, his fingers curling painfully around his wrist. "This isn't a mission, and you're . . . you're not the team leader here. You don't need . . . to die for me."

Was there a more irritating pain in the ass on the planet? "You're right, I'm not your team leader here; I'm your friend. Doesn't matter. Same rule applies."

"No one gets left behind." Daniel said it very softly. "But, Jack--"

"Forget it. We got into this mess together, and that's the way we're getting out of it." He huffed and shook his head. "And it pains me to point this out, but Iraq was fifteen years ago. This body's seen some wear and tear since then."

Daniel didn't answer but a shiver wracked his frame. Jack pulled the blankets up around them. "You were out of it for a while. How are you doing?"

"Been better." Daniel shivered again, turning his face toward Jack's neck. "Ribs aren't bad if I don't move, but . . ."

"Head?"

He felt Daniel swallow hard. "Yeah. Feels like it's gonna crack into pieces and . . ." He blinked, lashes tickling Jack's skin. "Everything's all mixed up. Can't . . . can't think."

"It's okay." Jack kept his voice light. "Just let me be the brains of this outfit for a change."

Daniel's breathy chuckle quickly turned to a hiss of pain, and Jack felt moisture against his neck. "Gotta appreciate the irony."

"How's that?"

"All the close calls . . . Goa'uld, prison planets, giant bugs. Can't believe . . . gonna die because of a . . . bunch of kids."

Jack grasped Daniel's shoulders and sat him up, ignoring the fact that he was causing his friend pain. He looked into Daniel's eyes, his own expression grim. "Listen up, because I'm only going to say this once. No one is going to die here, Daniel. Not me, and sure as hell not you. Help will come eventually, and we'll be waiting for it when it does. You got that?"

Daniel blinked and a tear tracked through the dirt and blood on his cheek. He bit his lip hard and nodded. "Yeah."

Regretting his harshness, Jack settled Daniel against him and adjusted the blankets. "Try to rest, conserve energy. You're going to need it." He tipped his head back and gazed at the stars. "We both are."


	3. Chapter 3

He was dreaming.

He had to be, because why else would Charlie O'Neill be standing in front of him?

Dressed in a Minnesota Twins jersey, well-worn jeans, and sneakers. Freckles dusting his nose and cheeks, and a red baseball cap concealing most of his blond hair. He stared at Daniel with solemn intensity.

Daniel blinked, then rubbed his eyes with shaking fingers. 

Still there.

Jack was solid warmth along his back, rhythmic breath ruffling his hair. Daniel turned his head cautiously, hissing when pain flared in his ribs. His friend was out for the count and snoring softly. When he looked back, Charlie was gone.

Daniel shivered, dizzy, nauseous, and very confused. He knew he was hurt and in trouble, but he couldn't remember how or why. Were they off-world? Where were Sam and Teal'c? He squinted against darkness and blurred vision, just able to make out the hulking form of Jack's SUV. It sparked a brief sense memory--squealing tires, Jack's warning shout, the world turning end over end, pain.

Daniel let his eyes drift shut as he pressed the heel of one hand to his throbbing head. It was so hard to think--his brain felt sticky and slow as molasses. His eyes popped open when he felt something brush his leg. Charlie was crouched beside him, one hand curled around his calf.

"Shit!" 

Daniel instinctively jerked away from the touch. Agony exploded through his chest, his head, wrenching a scream from his lips. His vision grayed out and a high pitched ringing filled his ears. He tried curling into a ball but a heavy band around his torso prevented it. He panted for air, but the harder he worked to pull oxygen into his lungs, the stronger the paroxysms in his chest. 

After what felt like hours, the white noise in his head subsided and he realized someone was talking to him. Eventually he was able to comprehend words and hear the rough edge of panic in his friend's voice.

". . . wrong with you, damn it, are you trying to kill yourself? Stop gulping air; there's plenty to go around." When he managed to comply, Jack's voice softened. "That's better. Try to relax; slow it down."

As the pain eased, Daniel cracked open an eyelid. Jack had both arms wrapped around him, supporting him. Daniel looked left, then right, gritting his teeth when the movement exacerbated his desire to puke. 

No Charlie.

"You doing better? My back is killing me." Jack's grumble held no real irritation, only worry. 

Daniel managed a slight nod and his friend eased them backward until they were once again propped against the tree. Jack rummaged in the pack beside them and a moment later a bottle of water brushed his lips. Daniel's guts did a slow roll.

"Can't."

"Daniel."

"Jack, can't."

Jack sighed but the bottle disappeared. Daniel sensed him raise it to his own mouth, felt the ripple of Jack's throat as he swallowed. He supposed he should feel embarrassed by the way he was clutching the arm that cradled him against Jack's chest, but he was tired and mixed up, and everything hurt too damn much. He turned his face into the softness of Jack's sweaty, bloodstained T-shirt, squeezing his eyes shut against the hot rush of tears.

He was dying. Why else would he be seeing a ghost?

"What in the heck got into you just now, anyway? You scared the crap out of me." When Daniel didn't answer, Jack asked, "Nightmare?"

Daniel closed his eyes. "Something like that."

"Well, don't do it again."

Daniel thought about the way a lock of Charlie's hair had curled over the edge of the baseball cap and the phantom warmth of that small hand on his leg.

"Jack?"

"Right here."

"Do you . . . do you believe in an afterlife?"

Jack didn't answer right away, but every muscle in his body tensed. "That must've been some nightmare." He took another swallow from the water bottle. "I never used to. I figured we all get one chance at life, no deposit, no return."

"What about now?"

A longer silence, and when Jack spoke, his voice was pensive and a little bitter. "I guess I've seen too many people who didn't get a fair shot the first time around. I'd like to believe there's some cosmic justice for that."

"My parents didn't believe in religion. To them it was just each culture's way of coping with forces beyond its control. When they died, I was pretty lost." He cleared his scratchy throat, grateful when Jack's arm tightened around his chest. "The social worker in charge of my case told me my parents were angels now. That they'd always be with me, watching over me. I didn't really believe her. But I wanted to."

"You're not going to die, Daniel."

It was a moment before his muddled brain could piece together the reason for Jack's quiet declaration. He bit down hard on his lip. "'S that an order?"

"Heck no--you never obey those." Jack patted his chest. "It's a promise. Now shut up. You're making _my_ head hurt."

Inexplicably comforted by Jack's snarky tone, Daniel shut his eyes and did his best to find the elusive respite of sleep.

*************************

_Ah, God. Talk about the morning after the night before._

Jack pried open crusty eyelids and squinted blearily at the rising sun. Every muscle in his body had stiffened, and the pressure of Daniel's not inconsiderable bulk against his chest was exacerbating the discomfort. Jack wriggled a little, but Daniel was a dead weight.

After a lot of squirming, a few curses, and some additional scrapes and bruises, Jack managed to shift Daniel onto the ground, his upper body elevated by a folded blanket. He hauled himself to his feet and carefully stretched, rotating his shoulders and shaking the pins and needles out of his arms. His eyes were repeatedly drawn to Daniel's pale face and the limp hand curled just over his heart.

He knew he should probably wake him--it had been hours since they'd last spoken, and his friend's slumber was disturbingly heavy. On the other hand, while asleep Daniel could escape the pain. And the shadows bruising his friend's eyes and the lines around his mouth testified to just how much pain Daniel was in. Jack sighed. He and Fraiser had certainly butted heads often enough, but right now he'd give anything to have her here, bossing the hell out of him and ruthlessly commandeering Daniel's care. He was out of his depth, and sinking fast. 

Jack hobbled a few yards away to take care of business, then tried the cell phone one more time. When the display showed no signal bars and the phone lay dead and unresponsive in his hand, he drew back his arm and pitched it down the side of the mountain. 

"Remind me not to . . . piss you off."

He whirled at the sound of Daniel's voice. His friend was attempting to sit up. Considering his rough gasps for air and the sweat pouring down his face, he wasn't doing a very good job of it.

"Are you nuts? Lay down!" Jack scrambled to Daniel's side as his friend collapsed onto his back with a groan.

"Nature calls. And I don't mean those birds."

Jack grimaced. "I'll help you, but it's not going to be pleasant."

"Neither is . . . peeing my pants."

Jack stared at him, then snorted.

Daniel scowled. "What? You think . . . this is funny?"

"No. I just never thought I'd hear Dr. Daniel Jackson, linguist, master of twenty-plus--"

"Twenty-five."

"Fine, _twenty-five_ languages, use the word 'pee.'"

"Language is about . . . communication. Got the message . . . didn't you?"

"Well, when you put it that way, I guess--"

"Jack?"

"Daniel?"

"Sometime today . . . would be good."

"Smartass."

The familiar banter loosened the knot in Jack's chest. Getting Daniel vertical, however, brought it back with a vengeance. Every method he tried provoked excruciating pain. Though Daniel gritted his teeth and suffered--mostly--in silence, every muscle in his body was rock hard with distress and he clamped his fingers around Jack's arms with bruising force.

After several unsuccessful, gut-wrenching attempts, Jack accepted the inevitable: he was going to hurt Daniel no matter what. Best to be as quick and efficient as possible. If he couldn't minimize the agony, at least he could shorten its duration.

Daniel's dizziness and disorientation were worse. Jack half dragged, half carried him to and from the makeshift latrine, Daniel staggering drunkenly one moment and taking a nosedive the next. The fact that he submitted to Jack's aid without complaint or embarrassment testified more clearly than words to his level of discomfort. 

More water and ibuprofen for Daniel, but he stubbornly resisted Jack's urging to lie down, preferring to be propped up against the tree. He waved away the power bar, immune to both cajoling and threats. Jack hobbled around for a few minutes, kicking stray branches and tearing the rejected bar with savage teeth while muttering under his breath about archeologists and their resemblance to a certain farm animal. Eventually his knee reminded him who the real jackass was, and he slumped down beside Daniel.

"I should try to climb out of here." He gazed up the steep incline peppered with loose shale and rock.

Daniel let his head loll to the side. "You'll never make it."

"Neither will you."

"'M tough. Be fine."

Jack observed his friend's sweat-sheened skin and the fine tremors running through his body. Was it just his imagination, or did Daniel look even worse than he had last night? "Daniel--"

"I mean it, Jack. I'd rather take my chances. No . . . no playing hero."

"You need a hospital."

"I need you. You fall . . ." Daniel looked away, biting his lip. "Don't want to die alone . . . Jack. Not . . . not this time."

_Daniel, crumpled on the floor, face streaked with dirt and tears. The smell of blood and charred flesh. "Just go! I'll stay--and watch your back."_

Jack sucked in a breath, the memory's edges still sharp enough to draw blood. He ground his teeth together. "I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you."

Silence sprang up between them, broken only by the rasp of Daniel's breathing and Jack's occasional grunt as he shifted position. He waited Daniel out, certain his friend could not let too much time elapse before his natural verbosity would force him to speak. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, and Jack finally broke.

"So, uh, this girl that got snaked--" Jack winced. "I mean, that Osiris . . . You two were . . . close?"

Daniel didn't turn his head, but his jaw tightened. "A million years ago."

"I'm sorry."

"Why? Because the women in my life . . . have a disturbing tendency to end up hosts? Or because you left me . . . high and dry when I needed you?"

"Those are rhetorical questions, right?"

It was a piss-poor attempt at humor. Jack was certain Daniel would either roll his eyes or snarl at him. Daniel's quiet sigh, followed by silence, made his stomach churn.

"Look, Daniel, I--"

"Do we have to do this now?"

Tuning into his own anger was easier than acknowledging the weariness in Daniel's tone. "You got a prior engagement?"

"You're a barrel of laughs."

"I'm just saying we're stuck here. Might as well clear the air."

"Fine. You want to get into this? You got it." Daniel shifted to look at him, white-faced with fury and pain. "I'm tired of taking your crap. Not sure exactly when . . . I stopped being your friend and started . . . being your punching bag . . . figuratively speaking . . . but I've had enough and I--"

"Edora."

"--think it's time you-- What?"

"You just said you didn't know when it started. I'm guessing it was after I got stuck on Edora." Jack looked away from Daniel's slack-jawed stare. "I may be a bastard, but I'm not an ignorant bastard. I know what I've been doing."

"You do?"

"'Shut up, Daniel.' Sound familiar?"

"You do." Daniel tipped his head back and squinted up at the tree branches over their heads. "Why then? You're my . . . I thought we were friends."

"That's the problem." Jack rubbed the back of his neck. God, he hated introspection. Why couldn't they just forget the last year and move on?

"My friendship's a problem? Well I'm sorry. You should've said something."

"Just shut up a minute, all right?" Jack sighed. "The real reason Sara left me was that she got damn tired of the fact that I wouldn't let her all the way into my life. I was so determined to protect her from me--the distasteful things I'd done, and my own guilt and shame--that I put up barriers to keep her at a safe distance. I didn't trust her enough to let her see it all. I was afraid that if she did, she wouldn't stick around. Instead, I wound up driving her away." He chuckled bitterly. "Ironic, isn't it?" 

Daniel didn't answer, but he glanced at Jack from the corner of his eye.

"I trust you, Daniel. All the way. So when this job starts to get to me, when I can't take Kinsey, or the Tollan, or the Tokra, or . . . or the damn Russians one minute longer, I unload. On you. 'Cause I know you'll swallow all my crap, even when you don't deserve it. Even when it hurts . . ." He blinked stinging eyes. "Truth is, I'm a selfish son of a bitch. And a lousy excuse for a friend."

Daniel was quiet for what felt like a very long time. When he spoke, he annunciated as if choosing each word carefully. "Then we are still friends. I have to admit . . . I've wondered."

It never ceased to amaze Jack just how badly words could hurt. He closed his eyes and swallowed. "I guess I deserve that."

"I depend on you too, Jack."

Jack heard the rest of the thought as clearly as if Daniel had verbalized it. "I'm sorry I've let you down."

Another silence, then Daniel's tense body relaxed and he leaned heavily against Jack. "You're here now."

Jack's throat was too tight to reply.


	4. Chapter 4

The next time Charlie appeared, Daniel was wide awake.

It was late afternoon, and lengthening shadows crept across the ground, swallowing patches of sunlight. Daniel had passed most of the day in a pain-induced haze, slipping in and out of restless sleep. He knew his periods of clear-headedness were becoming more and more infrequent, but couldn't muster the energy to care.

The ibuprofen was gone. Jack had forced him to swallow the remaining two tablets several hours ago, and the gnawing, relentless pain in his ribs and head had already begun to pierce the drug's thin blanket of relief. They were down to one granola bar and three bottles of water. And the dark clouds brewing in the western sky threatened they'd be wet as well as cold before morning.

Jack was hobbling carefully along the rocky incline, gathering whatever wood he could find for a fire. Daniel watched, his heart stuttering every time his friend lost his balance, or stumbled, or slid on treacherous shale. He wrapped his arms around his ribs and turned his face into his shoulder to smother a cough. The annoying tickle in his chest had been steadily worsening since early afternoon, and he was pretty sure he had a fever. It was going to be hell trying to keep it from Jack.

"He knows."

All the spit dried up and Daniel's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He turned his head slowly to regard the boy crouching near his left shoulder, a solemn expression on his small face. Twenty feet away Jack stumbled, cursed lustily, and continued his search for sticks.

"Wh-what?" Daniel's lips formed the question but it came out as little more than a puff of air.

"My dad. He already knows you're sick, so you might as well stop worrying about hiding it from him."

Daniel gaped at the child for a moment, then, with some hesitation, reached for the jersey-clad shoulder. His hand met no resistance, continuing through the little boy's upper body with barely a ripple.

"Shit!"

"Daniel? You all right?" Jack had dropped his small pile of branches and was eyeing him intently, lines of worry creasing his brow.

Daniel's gaze ping-ponged between Jack and Charlie and gooseflesh broke out on his arms. Jack was staring right through the boy, as if he wasn't there. "I-I . . . Jack, d-don't you . . . He's . . ."

"He can't see me."

Charlie's soft, sorrowful words pulled his attention from Jack. "He can't?"

"Daniel? You're getting me a little worried here. What's with the _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_ imitation?"

Daniel looked at Charlie, who simply raised both eyebrows. He cleared his throat. "I'm--ah . . . Sorry. I'm not . . . 'm fine."

Jack folded his arms. "You are."

"Yes."

"Fine."

"Yes."

"You're sure."

Daniel gritted his teeth. "Yes. I'm positive."

"Then would you please explain who you were just talking to?"

Daniel locked his eyes with Jack's, doggedly ignoring the presence at his side. "Myself."

" _Yourself_?"

"Yes, Jack. Sometimes I talk to myself, okay?"

"Is that a geek thing?"

"Don't you have some wood to gather?"

Jack pointed his finger, like he was going to argue, then shrugged and picked up the pile of sticks. Daniel waited until Jack had moved farther away before turning cautiously toward Charlie.

"If I'm not going crazy . . . why can't he see you?"

Charlie sat back on his butt and picked up a rock. "I hurt him too much." He rubbed some dirt off the stone and squinted up at Daniel.

"By dying?" When Charlie nodded, Daniel frowned. "That's . . . that doesn't make sense. He's not mad at you; he doesn't blame you  
for--"

"Not mad. Sad." Charlie's tone was patient and weighted with wisdom beyond his years. "It hurts him to remember me."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute." It was so hard to think, to keep his muddled brain on track. "Are you saying he can't see you . . . because he doesn't _want_ to?"

"He shut the door between us," Charlie replied. "I can't get in."

Jack chose that moment to glance over his shoulder. Daniel let his eyes slide shut, as if dozing. Though it fooled Jack, opening them proved harder than he'd anticipated. "Why are you here? Does this mean . . . ?"

Charlie scrunched up his forehead. "Huh?"

Daniel stole a quick peek at Jack, then licked his lips. "It's just . . . I thought maybe you were here to, you know . . . take me with you."

Charlie's eyes went wide. "Oh! You think I'm here because you're gonna die."

"Well, the idea had crossed my mind."

"Nah. Well, not exactly. I mean, you could die. Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I can see the future."

"Then why . . . ?"

"I'm here to help you. I guess you could call me a guardian angel." Charlie snickered. "But not like those girly looking ones you see in church."

"Good." Daniel sucked in a breath as pain shot through his ribs. "We can use . . . all the help we can get."

"I think I can get you out of here. There's just one problem."

"Just one?"

Charlie frowned. "You know, sometimes you sound an awful lot like my dad."

He didn't even want to go there. "What's the problem?"

Charlie jerked a thumb toward Jack, who had left off gathering twigs in favor of massaging his injured knee. "You've gotta get him to do what I say. And he's not going to believe you."

Daniel closed his heavy eyes. "You're right. Don't suppose . . . they make you angels . . . come up with a plan B?"

A warm palm touched his forehead, then cupped his cheek. Daniel jerked, his eyes flying open. Jack's face was inches from his own, and his friend was swearing softly.

"You're burning up. No wonder you're over here talking to yourself."

Daniel batted weakly at the hand. "'M not delirious, Jack."

The little line between Jack's brows deepened. "Uh-huh. Here. Drink this."

Daniel swallowed the water pressed to his lips, his gaze drifting over Jack's shoulder to where Charlie still stood. The little boy was looking at his father was such undisguised longing that Daniel's throat ached.

Jack set aside the water bottle and tucked a blanket around Daniel. "It's just like you to go and get pneumonia when we don't have any ibuprofen left," he growled, but Daniel heard fear and not anger in the words.

Daniel drew in a breath. The air seemed to catch in his chest and he barked out a string of harsh, wet coughs until black spots danced before his eyes. "Jack, I-I gotta te-tell you something."

"What you _gotta_ do is shut up and breathe. And I've gotta get you out of here."

"That's what--" Daniel coughed again, his respiration a harsh wheeze-- "what 'm trying . . . say. Know . . . know how."

"Oh yeah? Got it all figured out, huh?" Jack wiped his face, the cool, damp cloth heavenly against Daniel's hot skin.

"Yes."

"Well lay it on me. I'm all ears."

Daniel blinked. His conversation with Charlie had zapped his already flagging stamina, and Jack's ministrations were lulling him toward sleep. "Huh?"

"I said I'm listening."

"To what?"

Jack pulled back the cloth and scowled. "To the grand plan you've got for getting us out of here."

So tired. Daniel squinted at Jack through slitted eyes. There was something . . . something he had to tell Jack. Something important. Movement at the periphery of his vision gave him his answer. "Charlie."

Jack went very still. "What?"

A distant corner of Daniel's brain registered the thin, tight sound to Jack's voice, but he couldn't seem to focus. Mesmerized, he watched Charlie reach out tentatively toward his father. 

Jack gripped Daniel's arm, hard. "Daniel? What about--?"

Charlie's fingers brushed Jack's head and a breeze ruffled the short, silver strands of hair. Jack blinked, faltering, then quickly recovered. "Damn it, Daniel! What are you trying to say?"

"See?" Charlie's blue eyes were filled with regret. "I told you. He doesn't want to see me. I think maybe he wants to forget me."

"You're wrong." Daniel's tongue felt lazy and too large for his mouth. "He doesn't want . . . forget you. Just can't . . . can't forgive himself." His eyes slid shut. Leaving them closed really seemed the best way to go.

The last thing Daniel heard was two voices calling his name.

*************************

_What the hell just happened?_

Daniel was out cold--asleep, unconscious, in a fever-induced stupor. Jack wasn't sure which and it was scaring him. Badly. He wiped his friend's flushed face, then tugged the blanket more firmly into place around his shoulders, shivering a bit at the growing nip in the air. There was no sign of rescue, clouds had blotted out the setting sun, and it seemed they'd be spending another night out in the open.

Meanwhile, Daniel had developed a set of symptoms that looked uncomfortably like pneumonia and was spouting . . . 

Jack ran a hand down his face, wincing at the combination of sweat, grime, and stubble. Why would Daniel be talking about Charlie? And who was he talking to? He could chalk it all up to pain, fever, and sickness, but that still didn't explain why Daniel would be rambling on about Jack's dead son. It made no sense. And he really, really disliked it when things didn't make sense.

Losing Charlie was a private pain, one he guarded jealously. As close as Jack had grown to his teammates, as much as they had become family to him, he balked at sharing the intimate details of his earlier years. He'd divided his life into two distinct compartments--before and after the SGC, and he'd become adept at patrolling the wall between the two.

With everyone except Daniel.

Jack looked at his friend, lips curving in a rueful smile. Daniel was a pushy little bastard who refused to respect Jack's self-imposed boundaries. He'd fumbled his way into Jack's life, disarming him with keen intelligence combined with wide-eyed wonder. And he'd stayed--despite Jack and the kind of crap he'd pulled a few weeks ago.

He'd stayed.

Jack shook his head. He hadn't done much lately to deserve that kind of loyalty. It was high time he rectified that situation. Otherwise the day just might come when Daniel would decide he'd had enough and say when.

And even a hardheaded, frequently oblivious guy like Jack knew that that the SGC in general, and his own life in particular, would suffer from the loss.

He snagged a corner of the blanket and scooted underneath, his mouth twitching with repressed amusement when Daniel's head dropped onto his shoulder with a soft sigh. One more night. He'd get them through one more night on this godforsaken hunk of rock and then he was climbing up to the road, come hell, high water, or bad knees. He owed Daniel much more, but it was a start.

*************************

_Daniel. C'mon, Daniel, you gotta get up!_

Something tickled his ear. Daniel frowned, bringing up a hand to swat at the offending bug. Cool air raised goosebumps on his arm and brought him abruptly awake as he groped for the blanket. Two blue eyes, directly in front of his own, wrenched a breathy yelp from his lips. Beside him, Jack snorted, smacked his lips, and continued to snore.

Charlie backed off but glared at him. "I thought you were never gonna wake up. I've been yelling in your ear for an hour!" When Daniel raised an eyebrow, he huffed, "Okay, maybe not an hour. But a _really long time_!"

Daniel shivered, smothering a cough that struggled to break free. His face was hot, his body cold, and the gorilla sitting on his chest had gained ten pounds. In short--he felt terrible.

"Sorry." He punctuated the apology with a cough.

"It's okay. It's just--it's time."

"Time?" Time for what? He peered into the darkness, trembling harder with the cold. "To go back through the gate?"

Charlie blew out a long breath, but stopped scowling. "No, Daniel. You're on Earth. You had an accident, remember?" 

Accident? Daniel looked in the direction Charlie was pointing, barely able to make out the hulking shape of the SUV in the darkness.

Oh yeah.

"Still don't get . . . what it's time for."

"To get you and my dad rescued. But you gotta make him do what I say."

Daniel's snort turned into hacking and wheezing. "Doesn't do . . . what I say . . . and he can _see_ me."

Jack groaned and nudged his hip. "Dreaming, Daniel. Wake up."

When Charlie gestured pointedly at Jack, Daniel squirmed upright and shook his shoulder. "I'm not asleep, Jack. _You_ wake up."

Jack sat up, grumbling under his breath. His hair stuck out at odd angles and his eyes were bleary. "It's the middle of the night." His gaze sharpened. "Is something wrong?"

"Not . . . not exactly."

" _Not exactly_?"

Daniel glanced at Charlie, who simply made shooing motions with both hands. "Ah . . . I've got a plan."

"You've got a plan."

"That's right."

"For what?"

"For what? For getting us out of here."

"I see." Jack laid the back of his hand against Daniel's forehead, then his cheek. "And this plan just . . . came to you, I take it?"

Daniel batted at his hand away. "Stop it. You have . . . have to listen to me."

"I am listening." Jack's uncharacteristically patient tone screamed "humor him."

"Tell him to turn on the headlights," Charlie said, popping his head over Jack's shoulder. 

Daniel jumped, wincing. "God! Don't _do_ that! You about scared the life out of me."

Jack gaped at him. "What? What the hell did I do?"

Charlie stamped his foot. "Pay attention, Daniel. He needs to put the headlights on so they're--what do you call it? When they get really bright."

Daniel's jaw dropped. "Wait a minute. _That's_ your plan? Turn on the high beams?"

"High beams! Yeah, that's what Dad always called 'em."

"Daniel. Who are you talking to?"

"What . . . what possible good is that going to do?"

"Daniel." The indulgence was gone from Jack's voice.

"It's gonna let people know you're down here, that's what. Gee, I expected this from my dad, not you."

"Let people know . . . We're thousands of feet down the mountain! Those . . . those headlights will never reach--" Daniel broke off, shaken by a round of harsh, barking coughs.

"Damn it, Daniel! What in the hell is going on?"

Jack caught him around the chest, trying to brace his ribs while Daniel did his best to hack up a lung. When the spasms finally eased off, he could barely hold up his head. He let Jack manhandle him until he was propped in a semi-reclining position against the tree.

"I can't," he gasped at Charlie, who had come to crouch by his side. "'S no use."

"Yes you can." Jack growled through clenched teeth. "You're going to hang in there, damn it! You've never been a quitter and I'm not about to let you start now."

"You're gonna die," Charlie said, blue eyes glistening. "And I don't think my dad can get over losing another person he loves. Please. You've gotta trust me."

Jack slipped a hand behind Daniel's neck and helped him sip some water. "Maybe if you got some sleep instead of chatting with your invisible friend, you might not be in such bad shape."

"Jack."

"Shut up, Daniel."

"Jack, you've got . . . got to turn on . . . headlights."

"Forget it--"

"Know it . . . sounds crazy, but--"

"Not as crazy as you talking to thin air."

"I'm serious. You don't understand--"

"No, _you_ don't understand."

"Trying to tell you--"

"Daniel, the battery is dead."

"Wha--?" Daniel stared at Jack, then Charlie. "Dead?"

"As a doornail. I tried the engine when I was scavenging for blankets and water. Nearly got myself killed in the process."

Charlie leaned in closer. "It will work. But he's gotta turn 'em on."

"You're sure?"

Charlie nodded.

"Now see, that's creeping me out." Jack waved a hand in Charlie's direction. "You still haven't mentioned who you're talking to. And please don't say yourself."

He was so achingly tired. Daniel didn't know if he had the strength to deal with what was coming.

"You have to," Charlie said. "He might give you a hard time, but he listens to you. You know he does."

"You're not going to believe me." Daniel turned his whole focus onto Jack, desperately trying not to slur his words.

"Won't be the first time."

"Jack."

"Daniel. Just . . . level with me."

Daniel licked his lips. "Charlie. I've been . . . I've been talking to . . . Charlie."

Jack didn't blink. "Have you now."

"God! I knew . . . knew you wouldn't believe me."

"Did I say that?" Jack got out a cloth and doused it with water. "I think it's great you two have been shooting the breeze. Tell him I said hello."

"Tell him you . . ." Daniel shut his eyes, grinding his teeth in frustration. The cloth felt wonderful on his overheated skin, and part of him--the exhausted, hurting, hopeless part--wanted to just give in and enjoy it.

"Daniel."

"I know, I know." He glared at Charlie. "This would be . . . lot easier if you'd . . . talk to him yourself."

"I _told_ you . . ."

"So, what's Charlie been doing with himself? They got a baseball team up there? Charlie was always working on his pitching, but--"

"Stop it."

"I didn't start it, Daniel. You did."

Daniel welcomed the edge in Jack's voice. If Jack continued to treat him like a toddler with a vivid imagination, they were doomed. Anger he could work with.

"I'm not delirious . . . or . . . or hallucinating. He's here; you just can't see him."

"Right. Because why would I be able to see my own kid? It makes so much more sense that he'd appear to _you_."

"I asked him about that."

"Really? Care to share?"

 _No_ , Daniel thought. Then he looked at Charlie, wearing that same expression of naked yearning as he watched Jack fume.

"He said . . . He said you shut him out. That remembering . . . hurts you too much."

Jack froze. Even in the darkness, Daniel could see that his entire body had gone rigid. After a moment he lurched to his feet and hobbled away, the night quickly swallowing him up.

"I told you," Daniel said quietly.

"He'll be back."

"How can you be sure?"

Charlie shrugged, evading Daniel's gaze. "'Cause deep down inside, he knows you're right."

A few minutes later Daniel heard the crunch of footsteps and Jack stalked into view, limping heavily. He lowered himself to the ground, grunting when the movement jarred his leg. Daniel waited him out.

"Say I believe you--which I _don't_. None of this really matters." When Daniel opened his mouth to argue, Jack waggled his finger. "The battery is _dead_ , Daniel. Those lights won't work. And you said it yourself--they'd never reach the road even if they did."

"Why?"

" _Why_? How the hell should I know? Carter's the mechanical whiz kid; I pay someone else to fix my car."

"No, no." Daniel struggled to draw breath into lungs that felt waterlogged. "Why . . . won't you believe me? How long . . . how long have  
we . . . been friends? Why can't . . . you trust me?"

"It's not a matter of trust! For God's sake, Daniel, you're concussed and burning up with fever! It's not that I'm surprised you're seeing things; I'm just surprised what you're seeing is my son."

"God, you are so-- Okay." Daniel glanced over at Charlie. "He's wearing a Minnesota Twins jersey." He blinked against blurry vision. "Rick . . . Rick Aguilera. And a . . . a red ball cap."

Jack jerked as if he'd been slapped. "What?"

"Charlie had . . . a jersey like that . . . didn't he, Jack?"

"That's . . . it's coincidence. I'm from Minnesota and I've told you often enough that Charlie loved baseball."

"He bought it for me on my eleventh birthday," Charlie said, fingering the striped material. One corner of his mouth turned up. "He took me to a game and we ate all kinds of junk--sodas, hotdogs, popcorn, and candy. When we got home, I threw up and Mom read Dad the riot act for letting me eat all that stuff. That's what he always called it--the riot act." He sighed and looked up at Daniel. "It was the best birthday I ever had."

Daniel swallowed but couldn't seem to dislodge the lump in his throat. "He says you got it for him . . . when he turned eleven. You went to a game . . . bought him junk food. Sara got mad at you . . . when he threw up."

Jack's mouth moved as he struggled to form words. What finally emerged was a gravelly croak. "You . . . you can really . . . _see_ him?"

"Yeah." Daniel looked away from the pain in Jack's eyes. "He wants us . . . to turn on the lights. Says . . . trust him."

Jack scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "Daniel, I already _tried_ , and nearly plunged down the mountain for my trouble. If we just  
wait--"

"He says . . . I'm dying, Jack." Daniel forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. "Think I'm . . . out of time."

Jack stiffened. "Don't say that!" But as his gaze moved over Daniel from head to toe, his shoulders slumped.

"No one's coming. And you and I both know . . . you're never gonna make it . . . up that mountain." When Jack's head snapped up, Daniel chuckled raggedly. "Did you really think . . . I didn't know?"

Jack sighed. "You are a pain in the ass, you know?"

"Jack."

"I know, I know. Not in front of the kid." Chin tucked to his chest, Jack added quietly. "Daniel . . . tell him I--"

Daniel laid a hand on his leg. "He can hear you. And he already knows."

"Yeah." Jack hauled himself upright. "Then I guess he knows I wouldn't do something this crazy for anyone but him." He cocked an eyebrow at Daniel. "And, God help me, you. Wish me luck, Dannyboy."

He'd won. Gotten Jack to do what needed to be done--according to Charlie, anyway. So how come he felt so rotten? "Jack."

Jack turned to look at him and Daniel couldn't help flinching at the fresh lines of pain around his friend's eyes and mouth. "Yeah."

"Just . . . b-be careful."

Jack's jaunty salute came out as more of a weary wave. "Aren't I always?"

Daniel watched him lumber toward the truck while his stomach did flip-flops. The answer, of course, was no.


	5. Chapter 5

He'd lost his marbles. All of them. It was the only explanation for why he was trying to crawl into a truck that was hanging onto the side of a mountain by a thread. In the middle of the night. Because--and this was the best part--Daniel was channeling the ghost of his dead son.

Jack stared at the SUV. His ill-fated attempt to start the engine had caused the vehicle to shift so that the front end now pointed straight up the mountain. The driver's door, however, was still blocked by the tree, which meant he'd have to crawl into the car from the passenger side, inch across the seat, and reach over the steering wheel in order to turn on the headlights. 

The headlights that didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of working.

And he had to achieve this little feat of legerdemain without causing the truck, and himself, to plunge down the mountain and smash to bits on the rocks below.

Piece of cake.

The door groaned a protest as Jack pulled it open. He stole a quick look over his shoulder, barely able to make out Daniel's hunched silhouette in the darkness. It spurred him on, desperation a more compelling motivation than belief.

Shoving thoughts of both the dead and dying out of his mind, Jack grasped the door frame and endeavored to climb onto the seat. The fact that his right leg couldn't support his weight made the simple motion nearly impossible. He wound up collapsing onto the leather cushion in an ungainly sprawl that vibrated through the vehicle. A shower of gravel pattered down the incline and the truck creaked and shuddered. Jack clung to the dashboard, white knuckled, until it settled.

"That was . . . interesting."

He gingerly scooted across the seat until he came to the console. Kneeling on his good leg, he braced one hand on the seat back and groped for the controls with the other. Stretching his arm as far as possible, he still couldn't reach around the crumpled dashboard to press the right button. Despite the chill air, sweat dripped into his eyes and trickled between his shoulder blades.

After several minutes he gave up, slumping down onto the seat while working his way through an arsenal of profanity only years in the military could teach. Apparently, there were only two ways he could reach the damn button--either grow his left arm another three inches . . . 

Or get his ass over the console and onto the driver's seat.

Not much of a decision there. 

Putting his back to the driver's door, Jack braced an elbow on the seat back and leveraged himself over the divider. He allowed himself a moment to wipe the sweat from his eyes and wait for his leg to stop twanging. Then he reached around the crumpled steering wheel and thumbed the elusive button.

Two brilliant beams pierced the darkness. Jack blinked in the sudden wash of light, astonished. Daniel's breathless entreaty echoed in his head:

_"He wants us . . . to turn on the lights. Says . . . trust him."_

He'd crawled into this deathtrap for Daniel. Not because he was convinced his friend was communing with his dead son--though Daniel had put some serious dents in his disbelief--but because it was better than spending one more minute standing on the sidelines and watching Daniel slip away. Action, even if it was as crazy as turning on headlights in a car with a dead battery, helped him maintain the illusion that he could still exercise some control over their situation.

He'd never considered the lights might actually work.

Jack tamped down on the spark of hope that flared inside him. Sure, the lights were on. Even if, by some miracle, they could be seen from the road, it was still the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere. Not exactly rush hour.

Heaving a sigh, he started back over the console, then remembered he hadn't turned on the high beams. As he reached over and flipped the switch, his knee bumped the dashboard. Agony tore through his leg from hip to ankle and his entire body jerked, slamming into the seat back.

Through the haze of pain, Jack felt the truck lurch beneath him. He clutched the seat and froze, stilling his breath. A harsh grinding sound, and something gave way with a sharp crack, dropping the truck abruptly downward. It ground to a stop, then commenced a slow slide. Jack shut his eyes, heart hammering. Two thoughts chased their way through his brain:

_How many times have I risked my life going through the gate, and now I'm gonna wind up buying it in my own car._

Followed by:

_Oh, God, Daniel. I'm so sorry._

And then something caught under the back wheels, jolting the SUV to a standstill. It took Jack a moment to realize he wasn't in pieces at the bottom of a cliff. Relief kicked in, dizzying in its intensity.

"Jack! Answer . . . all right?" Daniel's voice was strained.

Cautiously, he lifted his head. "I'm just peachy. How 'bout you?" Not bad. His voice didn't waver, though his stomach felt as if it were trying to leap out of his mouth.

Silence, then an even weaker reply. "Not . . . so good."

"Daniel? Talk to me. Daniel!" 

Jack wriggled his way across the seat and out the door, tumbling onto the ground in his haste. Through eyes blurred by pain, he glimpsed Daniel lying in a crumpled heap halfway between the tree and the SUV. It took him several tries before he regained his feet and stumbled over to his friend.

"Damn it, I told you to stay put!" Jack looked to their makeshift camp under the tree, knowing there was no way in hell he could drag Daniel that far. "What did you think you were doing?"

Daniel's face shone ghostly pale. "Sa-saving your . . . ass."

"Yeah, well . . . " Jack sank to the ground with a breathy huff and wrestled Daniel into his lap. "You becoming a human speed bump isn't gonna help."

"'S gratitude . . . for you."

It was a brave front, but transparent. Daniel's pulse was racing. He struggled for each breath and held both arms curled tightly around his chest. Propping him up helped, but not enough.

"Talk to me, Daniel."

"Chest . . . pain . . . think maybe . . . made worse."

Jack nodded, hanging onto the thread of his composure. In the faint spill of illumination from the headlights, Daniel's lips looked unnaturally dark. He didn't want to consider what that meant. "Don't talk. Just try to relax. It'll pass."

He expected Daniel to call him on what he was sure they both realized was a blatant lie, but Daniel's gaze wandered over to the empty space by Jack's right shoulder.

"You . . . sure?"

"Daniel?" He knew he sounded angry; couldn't help his instinctive fear at the sight of his friend conversing with a ghost. 

One corner of Daniel's mouth turned up in a weak smile. "Charlie says . . . you . . . did good."

"Glad to hear it. Now shut up and rest."

"Some . . . bedside manner."

"Learned it from Fraiser."

Daniel's chuckle turned into a prolonged bout of coughing. Jack hauled him upright, supporting him as he hunched over, panting and shivering. The spasms finally eased and he pulled Daniel back against his chest, horrified by the dark trickle at the corner of his friend's mouth.

"Can't . . . breathe," Daniel gasped through rapid shallow gulps for air.

"Easy." He thumbed away the blood. "Just . . . just rest. Everything's going to be all right." He managed to snag the blanket, which had fallen nearby.

Daniel clutched his arm. "You. Me . . . not so sure."

"Well I am. Hey, we got the lights on, right? Just like Ch-- Just like he said. Help is probably right around the corner." _And if you believe that I've got some real estate I'd like to show you._

Daniel's head lolled on his shoulder and his gaze slipped out of focus. "Tired."

"Daniel." Jack patted his cheek, gently, then with more force. "Daniel, stay with me."

His only response was a weak cough and a fresh trickle of blood. Tightening his grip on his friend's limp body, Jack looked around them.

"If you're really . . . " His voice broke and he swallowed hard. "Charlie. Son. If you're really there, and there's anything you can do, please . . . " He closed his eyes and laughed raggedly. "Now I'm the one talking to myself."

"I'm right here."

Jack's eyes flew open. Charlie stood beside him--red ball cap, unruly blond hair, and a dusting of freckles across his nose.

"Wha- . . . H-how--?"

Charlie stuck his lip out, just the way he always did when uncertain. "I've always been here, Dad. You just wouldn't see."

Something inside Jack twisted painfully. "I'm sorry."

Charlie sighed. "I know. That's the problem. You spend so much time being sorry about what happened _to_ me that there's no time left _for_ me."

Jack shook his head, unable to tear his gaze from Charlie's face. "I'm afraid you lost me, kiddo."

Charlie crouched down, close enough now that Jack could see the faint orange stain on the sleeve of the much-loved jersey. An image flashed into his mind: he and Charlie leaping to their feet in a shower of spilled popcorn and orange Crush, cheering wildly as the Twins batted home a winning run.

"Yeah. Like that."

Charlie's soft voice brought him back. The memory evaporated, leaving a bittersweet ache in his chest. "What?"

"We had _fun_ , didn't we, Dad? Baseball games, playing catch at the park, riding bikes along the nature trail with Mom. Those were good times."

"Yeah. They were."

"Well . . . that's what I remember. All those cool things we used to do together. Not one stupid accident that wasn't really anybody's fault." He turned soulful brown eyes on Jack. "Can't you do that, Dad? Can't you be like me?"

For a moment his throat was too tight for speech. "Yeah," he finally managed, though the words sounded strangled. "I can try." 

Daniel coughed, his respiration stuttering erratically before settling back into the rhythm of rapid, shallow puffs. His lips had a dusky cast to them, as did his fingernails. Cyanosis, Jack thought grimly. His medical knowledge might be limited, but he recognized oxygen deprivation when he saw it.

"Charlie, Daniel's--" He looked up at his son, suddenly at a loss for words. "Is he going to make it?"

"Help is coming." Charlie gazed at Daniel with a mixture of sorrow and affection. "You just have to make him hold on until it gets here."

" _Me_? Make _him_?" Jack huffed. "He doesn't listen to me on a good day."

"He said the same thing about you." Charlie scrunched up his face. "You two are funny."

"Funny?"

"Yeah. You pretend you never listen to each other. But the truth is, you're about the only two people you really _do_ listen to."

 _Out of the mouths of babes._ "Uh-huh. We're a real riot, all right."

"You promise to make sure he keeps fighting?"

Jack raised his hand. "I promise."

"Good." Charlie cocked his head as if listening, then stood. "I've gotta go now."

"Don't!" Jack felt his face heat when Charlie gave him a puzzled frown. "I mean . . . are you sure you can't hang out a while longer? You know, shoot the breeze, talk about those old times?"

Charlie's smile was like sunshine. "I've got stuff to do, but . . . I'll be around."

Daniel coughed, thrashing restlessly in Jack's arms. It took him several minutes to quiet his friend and tuck the blanket more securely around Daniel's shoulders.

When he looked up, Charlie was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

". . . never really got into the spirit of things. All he'd do was stand there on the dock and look . . . menacing. Which, I'll admit, he does well. Probably scared the crap out of the fish. Guess I can't really blame him, though. Those mosquitoes were all over the T-man like white on rice. Must be something about Jaffa blood."

Jack leaned over to check on his friend. Daniel's eyes were open--barely. He stared sightlessly into the darkness, one hand clutching Jack's sleeve as he fought for each and every breath.

"You with me?" Jack's voice was a hoarse rasp from holding an endless monologue.

"No . . . choice." 

"Very funny." He used a corner of the blanket to wipe the blood from Daniel's lips. "Everyone's a critic."

"Sleep."

"Uh-uh. No way. You're going to stay bright and chipper and listen to every single one of my amusing anecdotes until help gets here."

"Not . . . coming."

"Yes, it is."

"Jack."

"Daniel. Shut up."

Silence, except for Daniel's ragged gasps for air. Then Daniel's grip tightened, his fingers digging into Jack's arm.

"Been . . . good friend."

Jack tipped his head back and shut his eyes against the rush of moisture. "I do the talking, remember? You just listen."

"Best . . . ever had."

"Don't do this."

"So tired . . . Jack."

"I don't give a rat's ass how tired you are. You're going to hang in there and keep breathing until help gets here. That's an order."

"Can't . . . order."

"The hell I can't! I promised my kid I wouldn't let you quit on me."

Daniel's eyes widened. "Charlie?"

"That's the one."

Licking his lips, Daniel struggled for enough breath to speak. "Thought . . . didn't . . . believe."

Jack shrugged, clenching his jaw. "Can't a guy change his mind?" When Daniel just stared at him, he growled, "Let's just say I took a leap of faith."

Daniel tried to answer, but began coughing instead. Jack held him, cursing softly as blood ran down Daniel's chin and spattered Jack's shirt. Eventually Daniel's eyes rolled back in his head and he sagged bonelessly in Jack's arms. Only the movement of his chest, light and rapid as a hummingbird's wing, reassured Jack that he was still alive.

"Don't do this." Jack lifted his eyes to the starry sky, anger welling up inside him. "He doesn't deserve it, and . . . neither do I." The rage evaporated--snuffed out by exhaustion. "Should've kept my damn feet on the ground."

"'ello?"

He thought the cry was an illusion, just the sound of the breeze in the trees. Until he saw a dancing flicker of light at the top of the incline.

"Hello . . . hear me? Is . . . .down there?"

A man's voice, ebbing and flowing on the wind.

"Help! We're here!" Jack squirmed out from under Daniel and laid him on the ground, battling his stiffened leg to stand. "I've got an injured man; I need help!"

He listened, heart pounding, terrified by the silence.

" . . . 911. Help . . . the way. Hold on."

Jack dropped back down beside Daniel and pulled his friend back into his lap. "Hold on. We can do that, can't we, Danny? Piece of cake."

*************************

Beeping.

The steady, high-pitched sound filtered into Daniel's consciousness. It was familiar, comforting in its own way, if only because it signified an abdication of responsibility. Content to just listen, he drifted.

More noises gradually penetrated his protective cocoon: a rhythmic hiss of air, the whisper-soft squeak of crepe soles, the clank and rattle of a cart, and under it all, the drone of voices.

As his awareness sharpened, other, less pleasant stimuli buffeted his senses. The acrid bite of alcohol in his nostrils. The stiff scratchiness of chemically laundered sheets beneath his fingertips. And pain pulsing through his skull and settling like an elephant on his chest.

_Infirmary._

_Hurt._

_Jack?_

It required an enormous amount of concentration and effort to pry open his eyelids. Light, brilliant and blinding, spiked through his already aching head. He slammed his eyes shut, clenching his fingers in the scratchy sheet. 

"Tone down the lights, will ya, Doc? Looks like Sleeping Beauty is finally waking up."

_Jack._

"C'mon, Daniel. Open those baby blues. We've got mood lighting, just for you."

Daniel complied. As promised, some of the overhead fluorescents had been turned off. His blurred vision gradually cleared, revealing Jack and Janet, poised on either side of him like bookends. They both smiled in perfect sync.

"Good to see you, Dr. Jackson."

"Welcome back, Dannyboy."

Thoughts flitted through his mind like elusive butterflies. _What happened? Why am I here? And why does Jack look like shit?_ He couldn't seem to grab hold of one long enough to examine it, so he lay there, blinking stupidly.

"I'm just going to check your vitals, Daniel. You've been out for a quite a while." Janet took his pulse and blood pressure, listened to his chest, then shined a penlight in each eye, wincing when it provoked a fresh stab of pain. "Sorry." 

She slipped an aural thermometer into his ear, nodding at the readout. "One hundred point five. Still a little high, but it's coming down. Your lungs sound good. What do you say we take you off the ventilator?"

_Ventilator. Wha--?_

And like the flick of a light switch, realization flooded his foggy brain. Now he could identify the hissing sound as a respirator and sense the tube down his throat. Suddenly the tempo at which his lungs filled with air felt all wrong. Daniel choked, fighting the alien rhythm of the machine, eyes wide with panic. The heart monitor doubled its beat and chaos erupted.

"Daniel! Daniel, don't fight the-- Damn it!" Janet fiddled with something, then leaned in close, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Daniel, I want you to take a deep breath, and when I count to three, blow as hard as you can. All right?"

Still battling for air, Daniel managed a jerk of his head. He could hear Jack growling at Janet and the shuffling of hurried footsteps.

"One. Two. Three. Blow, Daniel."

The tube slithered and tickled its way out of his throat. Daniel coughed until he saw stars, moaning whenever he managed to draw breath between spasms. By the time gentle hands eased him back against his pillow he was wrung out from pain and exhaustion. 

Someone placed a straw to his lips, and he sipped gratefully, the cool water a balm to his abraded throat. He looked up, surprised to see Jack attached to the hand holding the cup. His friend's eyes were heavily shadowed, his movements stiff and uncharacteristically graceless as he set the cup on the table and sank into a chair.

"Wh--happened?" His throat felt as if it were lined with broken glass.

Jack cocked an eyebrow and unsuccessfully tried to stifle a smile. "We had an accident. Car ended up a couple thousand feet down the side of the mountain."

Memory trickled back. "I've asked you that before, haven't I?"

"A time or two, yeah."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. Doc said you've got quite the concussion--among other things. Your brains are a little scrambled. It'll wear off."

Daniel frowned as fuzzy images resolved themselves. "Ran us off the road."

Jack scowled. "That's right. We'll probably never catch the little bastards."

"You hurt your leg."

"Yeah. Racked up my knee--again. Fraiser tells me I'm in for some surgery once the swelling goes down."

Daniel lifted his head but couldn't see past the edge of the mattress. Bad move--the drumbeat in his skull increased and the dull ache in his chest sprouted teeth. He groaned.

"Guess we forgot to mention that moving around isn't a good idea right now. Bad?"

"Been better. You?"

"Nah. Doc's got me on the good stuff. Hang in there--she went to get some for you, too."

"How long?" He knew he was close to speaking in code, but at the moment full sentences eluded him. Jack, bless him, understood.

"Nearly two days on the mountain before they found us. That was Tuesday night. It's Friday morning." Jack smiled, but his gaze was intense. "We were starting to think you were never gonna wake up."

Daniel brought an unsteady hand up to his chest. "Couldn't breathe."

"You were bleeding into your chest. After a while all that fluid kept your lungs from inflating properly. At least, that's the way the Fraiser explained it to me. We nearly lost you twice on the way in. You're lucky to be here, Daniel. Very lucky."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Getting us out of there."

Jack shrugged. "Wasn't me. We had some help."

Everything clicked into place. "Charlie."

Janet chose that moment to swoop down on them, hypodermic in hand. "All right, Daniel. This will help with the pain." She injected the contents into his IV line, then gave Jack a pointed glare. "What you need now is to rest and heal."

Jack raised both hands. "Two minutes and I'm outta here. Promise."

"I'll hold you to that, sir." Janet patted Daniel's leg. "Use the call button if you need anything."

Jack hauled himself upright, wincing. "Think I hear an ice pack calling me."

Daniel grabbed hold of his wrist. The drug was beginning to work, blunting the pain and spreading tendrils of warmth through his body. He blinked hard, fighting the urge to sleep. "How?"

Jack sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'll be damned if I know. The body shop tells me there's no way those headlights should've worked--but they did. Even so, the odds that someone would actually see them are about a million to one."

"But someone did."

Jack's eyes skittered away from his. "Yeah."

"Jack?"

"The couple that found us were on their way home from a camping trip. They got a late start and decided to drive through the night. The guy said his wife was sleeping, and he was starting to get tired himself. He figures maybe he dozed off for a moment, that what he saw was just a dream."

He knew where this was headed, but he wanted to hear Jack say the words. "What did he see?"

Jack finally met his gaze. "A little boy in a red baseball cap, standing in the middle of the road."

"Charlie."

"He slammed on the brakes and got out of the car, looking for the kid. Imagine his surprise when he found our headlights instead." Jack shook his head. "If not for . . . He'd've driven right by, Daniel."

Daniel smiled. "He said to trust him." He punctuated the words with a jaw-cracking yawn.

"Yeah, well . . . Get some sleep." Jack pulled a pair of crutches from beside the bed and tucked them under his arms.

Daniel watched him hop awkwardly toward the door. "Jack?"

He turned with raised brows.

"You all right?"

The line creasing Jack's forehead smoothed and his lips curved in a gentle smile. "Yeah. I am."

Satisfied, Daniel surrendered to the pull of sleep.

*************************

He could hear their voices before he turned down the hallway. Carter's infectious laughter and Teal'c's rumbling bass interspersed with Daniel's soft replies. Jack adjusted the crutches to a more comfortable position and painstakingly hopped onward.

Fraiser had released Daniel early that morning with the stipulation that he continue recuperating in his on-base quarters for at least another three days. You had only to look into the doc's eyes to see just how close Daniel had come to that big wormhole in the sky. Recovery would be slow--and painful.

". . . seems pretty obvious to me." Carter looked up from her perch on Daniel's bed as Jack appeared in the doorway. She grinned. "Colonel, we were just talking about you."

He lounged against the door frame. "All good, I'm sure."

"Depends on your perspective." Daniel was propped up on a stack of pillows. Though he looked a hundred times better than the man they'd hauled up the side of the mountain, his eyes were still hollowed by fatigue and pain. 

"We've decided these fishing trips of yours should be outlawed, sir," Carter explained. "They seem to be a recipe for disaster."

"Really? How do you figure?"

"Well, Jack, you have to admit our trip didn't turn out so well." The slight slur to Daniel's speech coupled with his goofy grin told Jack his friend was definitely under the influence of Fraiser's drugs.

"And look what happened when you went off with Teal'c," Carter chimed in before he could respond. "Osiris turned up, Daniel got zatted, Janet and I were thrown against a wall . . ."

"And I myself sustained many wounds from the carnivorous insects that inhabit the woods surrounding your lake, O'Neill. Fortunately my symbiote was able to neutralize their ill affects."

"Et tu, Teal'c?" Jack shook his head. "Ya know, I think we need to plan a group fishing trip as soon as Daniel and I are on the mend. It's obvious none of you truly grasp the almost cosmic significance that fishing holds."

"Yes . . . well . . . I'd have to check my schedule on that, sir. I'm working on a way to streamline the dialing system and then there's that naquada generator that--"

"Carter."

"Sir?"

"I get the picture."

She ducked her head, smiling.

"Major Carter and I are on our way to lunch, O'Neill. Perhaps we could bring you and Daniel Jackson nourishment?"

"Got it covered, T, but thanks."

"I'm glad you guys stopped by. And Sam, thanks for the chocolate." Daniel gestured to a large package of 5th Avenue bars lying on the bedside table.

Carter leaned over and kissed his cheek, then stood. "You're welcome. It's good to see you looking so much better."

Teal'c inclined his head. "I concur with Major Carter's assessment, Daniel Jackson. Your condition has indeed vastly improved. When you first arrived in the infirmary you appeared to have been transported by a feline."

When Daniel just gaped at the Jaffa, lips parted and forehead creased, Jack took pity on him. "He means you looked like something the cat dragged in, Daniel."

Daniel blinked, then beamed a loopy grin. "Good one."

Carter exchanged an amused glance with Jack. "I'll be back later, just to see if you need anything. And thanks again for agreeing to help."

"No problem, Sam. Later, Teal'c."

Jack hopped over to the now-empty chair and eased into it with a soft grunt. Setting aside the crutches, he propped his injured leg on the bed. 

Daniel was studying him closely, no longer smiling. "How's the knee?"

"Swelling's down. Fraiser says another couple days and I'll be ready to go under the knife--so to speak." When Daniel grimaced, he waved his hand. "It's not the first knee surgery I've had, and it most likely won't be the last. No big deal."

"I know. I'm just . . . I'm sorry you had to go through all that."

Leave it to Daniel to be worrying about _him_. Didn't the guy have at least one selfish bone in his body?

" _Me_? Daniel, I got a bump on the head and tore cartilage in my knee. A few weeks and I'll be back to planet hopping with the best of them. _You_ , on the other hand, sustained a grade three concussion, four broken ribs, and internal bleeding that damn near collapsed your lung. You'll be lucky to get back out there in a couple _months_. Why the hell are you sorry for me?"

_And why are you getting so angry about it, huh, Jack?_

Daniel just looked at him, all big blue eyes full of patience and affection. "I had it easy--relatively speaking. I mean, yeah, it hurt like hell. And I was scared." He smiled that self-deprecating little smile that never failed to tug on Jack's heartstrings. "Really scared. But a lot of it is a big blur for me.

" _You_ were the one who had to take care of _me_. That knee wouldn't be nearly as bad if you hadn't been hauling me around, saving my ass--Janet told me," he added quickly when Jack started to protest. "You kept both of us going until help arrived." He hesitated. "And you did it while trying to deal with a visit from your dead son."

For the first time in five years the sound of Charlie's name carried no real pain, just a bittersweet ache. If he concentrated real hard, he could swear he felt the warmth of a small hand on his shoulder. "I'm fine, Daniel."

Daniel narrowed his eyes, then smiled. "You really are."

"Yeah. I am. And don't sell yourself short. You did a damn fine job of hanging on--and making me finally see what was right in front of me." Jack shrugged off his pensive mood. "Now, how about a game of gin?" Reaching into his pocket, he tossed a pack of cards onto the bed.

"You always beat me at gin."

"And your point is?"

Daniel squinted at him for a moment, then shrugged. "Okay."

Way too easy. Suddenly Carter's parting words echoed in Jack's head.

"Daniel?"

"Hmm?"

Jack split the deck, then fanned the two halves together. "Why was Carter thanking you?"

"What?"

"Carter. As in Major Doctor Samantha? She thanked you for agreeing to help her."

"Oh, that!" Daniel flicked his hand negligently. "She's chairing the committee for this year's SGC family picnic and she really needed someone to head up the talent show."

_Gotta hand it to you, Carter. You sure know how to strike when the iron's hot._

"Daniel?"

"Yeah, Jack?"

"Don't you hate the talent show?"

"Ah . . . well . . . yeah."

"Didn't Carter railroad you into doing it three years ago?"

"Um . . . has it been that long?"

"And didn't you swear you'd never get stuck running the talent show ever again?

"Well, yeah, but she was in a real bind and no one--"

"Daniel?"

"Jack?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't Fraiser have you on Vicodin right now?"

Dead silence.

"Shit!"

Jack started dealing cards, not even bothering to hide his smirk. Score one for the home team.


End file.
